


The Devil His Due

by LateStarter58



Series: Sarah's Smutty Notebook [13]
Category: Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 2 - Shakespeare, Henry V - Shakespeare
Genre: AU Henry V, F/M, Post-Apocalypse, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Sandy has to make a deal, but the bar owner is very distracting





	The Devil His Due

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in response to a prompt, and was a complete departure for me. The place in the story, however, is based on a real bar in a town near to where I live.

_Ssssss….._

The hydraulics hissed as the scruffy, weather-beaten ship settled a little unevenly onto its legs, making six dents in the sparse grass beside the lake. Sandy hit the button to lower the outer door and, hand hovering close to her weapon, she walked out and looked around. Her hand-held told her that the bar was over to her right, up the hill, probably behind those ruins. Looked like it used to be a castle or something - sorry, _chateau_ in these parts.

She’d had the exchange with her potential customer the night before: **< Meet at _La Fontaine._ The owner looks the other way>**

_Why is that necessary, unless you’re planning to con me?_

**< OK. 17.00 tomorrow>**

She set off, walking through deserted streets of largely derelict houses and shops. She was alone; a young woman clad head-to-toe in snug leather, striding fearlessly up through the apparently empty Angévine town. Cats skittered and slunk out of sight; somewhere a dog barked and set several others off. But she saw none, so there had to be _some_ people here, to lock those dogs in or tie them up. A pretty church rose out of the gathering gloom, and just before she turned left as directed, she spotted an old war memorial outside it. Sandy liked those; they spoke of a time when conflicts and the loss they caused were less commonplace and when people still cared about the dead. A time when there were enough people left behind to raise memorials.

Up one more narrow street and then she emerged into what must have been – once upon a time - a picturesque square, with at its centre the long-since dried up fountain which gave the adjacent bar its name. The tiles were cracked and there were weeds in the pool. She walked towards the appointed meeting place. Sandy didn’t like the look of it. From outside, it seemed dark, gloomy and grubby, but she really needed to make this trade, so she straightened up her back and opened the door.

 

Hal Bolingbroke stood rubbing a filthy cloth over the beer taps. He was bored to tears, almost literally. He hated the job, he hated the bar; he hated this town. But where else would he go, what else could he do? He was stuck, running the place his father had won in a fixed game of cards. True, there was just enough turnover to keep him fed and clothed, but he was so fucking BORED. There were not enough pretty women in this town to keep him interested. Fuck, there weren’t enough _women,_ let alone pretty ones.

Rogers and his pals were in, and that meant trouble, most likely. Well, at least it would break the monotony. There might be a fight, though, and he couldn’t really afford to lose any more glasses. They were incredibly hard to find since hardly anyone made them anymore, and he hated to serve beer or wine in those god-awful plastic cups. Which cost an arm and a leg too, come to that.

Then the door opened and _fucking hell._

She was silhouetted against the light but he could see enough to make his cock twitch. Tight leather skimmed over her curves, a gun at her shapely hip, glossy brown hair topping it all off; _oh yes._

Sandy glanced around the low-ceilinged space. It smelled of smoke, alcohol and despair. There were a dozen small tables with mismatched chairs, a fire against the back wall, stairs leading up from one side and behind the long, curved, wooden bar stood a simply _gorgeous_ man. Tall, slim, bearded with long red curls, he was dressed in a well-worn but expensive-looking black leather jacket. He looked young, no more than thirty, and he was staring at her as he worked a matchstick in the corner of his mouth and with a wet rag in his hand.

_Get a fucking grip woman. You’re not here for that._

She scanned the room again. A group of men were looming over a table by the front window. One of them raised a hand and spoke.

‘You Sandy?’ He said it carefully, as if such a delicate name came rarely to his lips. He was eyeing her up and down blatantly. It didn’t bother her; she was well used to it.

She nodded curtly and headed towards them. As she reached the table she became aware of a presence beside her.

‘Can I get you anything?’ His voice was as handsome as his face.

She turned and he was close, very close. His long legs meant he was a shade taller than her despite her high boots. She could smell his cologne and an undercurrent of sweat. Something stirred inside her, but she beat it back down. This was business and she needed all her wits about her. Rogers was a crook and not to be trusted.

‘I’ll have a coffee, please.’

Hal nodded and headed back behind the bar.

One of the group used his foot to move a chair back for her to sit on. Cautiously, Sandy lowered herself into it. She was aware of the three men watching her. She knew she was attractive and was not above using it to get her way in a deal, but Rogers’ reputation went before him. If she let her guard down she could lose her goods, her money and maybe more. Showing her empty hands clearly and carefully reaching into her pocket, she tossed a packet onto the table.  Rogers - she assumed; he seemed to be in charge - picked it up and examined it closely.

The man was obviously trying to play it cool but she knew the value of her cargo. These drugs were genuine, rare and desperately needed by the sort of people who could afford to pay for them. Sandy and her pilot Laetitia wanted nothing to do with the grubby business of direct selling, but that did mean dealing with vermin like this from time to time.

‘Well?’ She cocked an eyebrow. Looks were exchanged between the men, and she felt her heart speed up a little. This was the most dangerous point in any deal. But Sandy had been around the block a few times and she had a few tricks up her sleeve. She kept her cool exterior until she felt that presence beside her again.  A long-fingered hand placed a small white cup in front of her. It was filled with what looked like real coffee. It smelled like it too. She looked around questioningly and was met with a pair of blue eyes that were fixed on her so intently she immediately felt light-headed.

‘Is this the real stuff?’ she managed, pointing to the espresso. Hal grinned broadly, even white teeth flashing.

‘It is, yes.’ He spoke quietly, as if he wanted only her to hear him. The other men were glaring, wanting him to move away so they could conclude the deal, but he was hovering, wiping the table, reluctant to be away from the woman. She was the first interesting thing that happened to him in months. Eventually Rogers lost patience and cleared his throat.

‘If you don’t mind…’ The snarl left Hal in no doubt that his presence was not required, so reluctantly he walked back behind the bar. Nevertheless, he kept a close eye on what was happening across the room; he knew Rogers had a bad rep, and Hal kept a gun under the bar for emergencies. He stood close to where it was stowed.

Just in case.

Rogers tossed his bleached dreadlocks over his shoulder. He thought he looked great, sophisticated. Sandy thought he looked like a tit, especially as he was otherwise filthy and his clothes unwashed. But she couldn’t afford to be fussy: if she didn’t sell these drugs to him they were in trouble. They had just about enough fuel to get to where the stuff was stowed and back here, then to the nearest refuelling rig. This hand-to-mouth existence was a strain, but there seemed no alternative. She had inherited the ship and this life from her dad; her pilot too. Government jobs weren’t exactly handed out to the daughters of crims, and anyway, what was she qualified for beyond wheeler-dealing and dodging the authorities?

‘OK,’ Rogers began, ‘we need to talk about the price.’

Sandy was expecting this, but she gritted her teeth anyway. She had only a tiny amount of room for manoeuvre, because she had probably paid a bit too much for the shipment.  One thing she was good at was numbers, and she had worked out precisely how low she could go without making a loss. She squared her shoulders and readied herself for the haggle.

Hal watched the party at the window table, only reluctantly dragging his eyes away when some of his local customers came in for their normal pre-lunch vins rouges or pastis. He couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but he gleaned a great deal from the body language. They were arguing about money, that much was obvious. The woman was bluffing, he felt, but Rogers had not been at the front of the queue when the brains were handed out, and Hal thought she would most likely come out on top. He wanted her to, anyway.

‘Who are they?’

One of his regulars was speaking, his head inclined towards the strangers. Hal shrugged. ‘Traders.’ The man snorted.

‘That’s all we see nowadays. Well, it’s better than soldiers, I suppose.’ Hal nodded in agreement.

That part of Anjou had been laid waste in the Water Wars. Ironically, the oldest buildings, such as the 13thcentury castle just behind the bar, had survived the fighting best. A swathe had been cut through the land southwards from the North Breton coast and those Plantagenet fortresses that dotted the landscape had seen the least damage. Now everything had quietened down, and the reduced population of the continent meant the water could return and the food go around. But the old certainties had departed too.

Except for that perennial one: _trust no one._

Across the room, Sandy was applying that very principle. Rogers had made such a ridiculously low offer that she had just ignored it. He too was in a bit of a bind: he had made promises to some pretty powerful people and now he was scrabbling to meet the obligations he had got himself into. After a few minutes of bad-tempered bargaining and some over-the-top posturing on both sides, the deal was done. Rogers spat on his palm and reached over to shake. With ill-concealed disgust, Sandy shook the hand and carefully let out the breath she had been holding.

She excused herself to go outside and radio Laetitia, who had moved the ship to a more secluded place, just to be on the safe side. She would now head to the god-forsaken spot that served as their hidey-hole and collect the merchandise. When Sandy returned to the bar, Rogers and his crew were arguing, presumably about the profits. She shrugged and took a seat at the bar; no longer obliged to be near the stinking quartet, she allowed her eyes to drift over the delicious man in front of her.

He had long legs. She liked that, and she liked that his clothes, although worn, were clean. As her gaze travelled up his legs she saw that the jeans were quite tight, and that they left little to the imagination. She felt a tingle at her core. Further up, a thin, tight t-shirt skimmed over a flat stomach and what seemed to be a muscled chest, from what she could see under that jacket. When her eyes reached his face she was embarrassed to see that he was looking back at her, a half-smile on his thin lips and a twinkle in those amazing blue eyes.

‘What would you like?’ he asked.

_You_

‘Is there any more of that coffee?’

Smiling, he nodded and turned to the ancient machine behind him and prepared her drink.

_Nice arse, too_

An hour later, the deal was done. Rogers and his gang had taken the six crates of medication off their hands in exchange for enough money to keep them going. After a brief discussion Laetitia agreed to head off alone again, this time to refuel.

‘You sure? Seems like a bit of a dump.’

Sandy grinned. ‘It might be, but there is _one thing_ worth investigating. I’ll be fine.’

The pilot shrugged and stomped back up the ramp into the ship. It was Sandy’s choice: she’s a big girl.

The bar was as empty as the rest of the town now. Walking back up the hill as the sun went down, Sandy had admired how the light fell on the black schist walls of the old chateau. Now she was appreciating black slopes of another kind – in denim - as she watched Hal wiping tables.

_Seriously nice arse_

He took his time, knowing she was looking at him. They were both adults, they both knew how this was going to end. Life in this brave new world didn’t allow for much courtship, and finding someone you liked the look of was a rare event. Quietly, without saying a word, he straightened up, walked past her and turned the key in the door. Taking her by the hand, he led her through the jumble of tables to the stairs she had noticed when she first walked in a few hours before. He had to duck as they climbed, and so did she; the stairs were cramped and twisty but opened up into a large room. In the centre of the floor was a large bed.

Sandy did a momentary double-take. The bed was neatly made, draped in what looked like a fur throw, a pile of cushions artfully placed. She would not have expected such style and luxury in this otherwise shabby place. He saw her confusion and smiled.

‘I like to keep things nice up here.’ He waved his arm. ‘In my own _private_ space.’

Before she could respond she found herself pulled against his firm body. His lips were on her neck and she revelled in the rough feel of his beard on her soft skin, Shivers of pleasure ran up and down her spine and into her secret places. Her hands found their way into those long red curls, tugging lightly and making him hiss against her. His tongue teased the skin around a mole on her neck and Sandy’s knees began to give way. It had been a very long time since a man kissed her, longer still since she wanted one to as much as this.  She leaned into him and he held her tighter, letting his lips drift over her face until they met hers. Sandy felt a giggle bubbling up as something occurred to her.

‘What’s so funny?’ Hal was mildly annoyed. Was she laughing at him?

‘I just realised I don’t even know your name.’

He leaned back and looked at her, then stepped away and clicked his heels together, bobbing in a slight bow.

‘Hal Bolingbroke, at your service, _Madame_.’

The formality of his greeting was somewhat spoiled by the suggestive eyebrow waggle which accompanied the word ‘service’. Sandy’s laugh was louder and fuller now. It morphed into a squeal as she was suddenly in the air and then she felt the fur of the bedspread under her outstretched hands. She looked up to see Hal crawling towards her, a predatory look on his beautiful face.  Sandy began to unfasten her leather jacket, silently cursing the complicated belt, poppers and zip arrangement. As he reached her, Hal pushed her hands away and completed the task himself, burying his face in her breasts as they were revealed.

Sandy arched her back to meet his lips and tugged at his jacket in turn, pulling it off his shoulders until he shrugged it off and returned to his task. His hands were working her trousers off now, and soon she was in just her underwear. He sat back on his haunches to admire her.

‘Gorgeous. So… what is _your_ name?’

She swiped at him but he dodged her hand easily.

‘It’s Sandy, you oaf! Didn’t you hear Rogers?’

‘I couldn’t hear much. All the blood rushed away from my head when you walked in the bar.’ He glanced suggestively at the now huge bulge in his jeans.

_Now, that REALLY looks worth investigating._

Her deft fingers were undoing his belt as he moved back to loom over her. Their faces were millimetres apart; she could feel the moisture in his breath on her face, hear the gasping in his throat.

_He needs this as much as I do._

His lips crushed hers as his hand on her back lifted her up to meet his chest. She was shoving at his jeans and they began to slide over his narrow hips. She looked down to see that his stylish wardrobe did not, apparently, run to underwear.

‘Well, that’s a sight for sore eyes…’ Sandy’s voice was soft but Hal smiled proudly nonetheless: he was ‘gifted’ and he knew it. He allowed his fingers to wander up her thighs, sending sparks of electricity exploding inside her. The tips brushed at her centre, already wet and ready for him. He felt her arousal and the smirk on his face widened to a grin as her legs moved further apart, almost unconsciously.  He lowered his head and took a deep breath: she smelled wonderful.

‘And that is the best smell in the world.’

Before Sandy could respond to this unorthodox compliment, Hal’s mouth was on her.  Good men were hard to find nowadays; good lovers were even rarer. Sandy had few thoughts in her head for the next twenty minutes, but one stood out: this man is an awesome lover. For a long time his tongue teased and caressed her, dancing close to but not quite on her nub. His lips sucked and kissed and his long fingers pressed and probed and finally slid inside, just when she felt she would die if he didn’t touch her just where she needed him to.

As his fingers found that special spot, his lips closed on her clit and Sandy screamed her pleasure. He kept her there, balanced on the edge of orgasm, letting her fall a notch, then lifting her back up again, until she couldn’t breathe. Her wet warmth clamped down on his fingers and he smiled as he moved up the bed to kiss her mouth once more. When she could speak, she could only say his name, over and over.

And she hadn’t even had that incredible cock yet.

Hal dealt with that deficiency right away: he rolled to lie beside her and pulled Sandy over to straddle him. She lifted up and, as slowly as she could bear to, lowered herself down onto him. Those blue eyes of his rolled shut and his mouth opened in a ‘o’ of ecstasy as he was hilted inside her. A grunt of satisfaction came from them both.  Sandy examined his beautiful face; a high forehead framed by that rich-red hair; a noble straight nose tipped with a delicate divot; thin red lips around a mouth of perfect teeth. But it wasn’t simply the individual features that made him so attractive, it was the landscape: clear pale skin and stunning bone-structure. High cheekbones and a strong jaw, and that neck… Oh that neck.

Hal sat up and held Sandy firmly. He began to roll his hips and the sensations overwhelmed her. Nerve-endings, already highly stimulated, began to fire again and she heard a strange noise in her ears. It took her a few minutes to realise it was her own voice; she was keening in her ecstasy. Sandy was bouncing on him now, unable to tell if she was moving of her own free will or being lifted by his hands on her hips and his upward thrusts. It didn’t matter. Noise filled the room: her screams, his grunts and moans, the dull thudding of the bed as it moved with them.

She lost track of her orgasms; ten, twenty? One long one? After a while she began to feel light-headed again as Hal’s thrusts increased in speed and power. His voice added to the cacophony, swearing and shouting her name as he lost control. A last deep plunge into her as he came and all was still save their panting. They held each other, Hal’s lips teasing her neck, Sandy nuzzling the hair behind his ear. 

 

Back on the ship later, her stomach filled with Hal’s omelette and frites, Sandy was unable to wipe a smug grin off her face.

‘Good, was it?’ Laetitia’s tone was only slightly disapproving.

‘The sex or the food?’

‘Food? He can cook too?’

‘Oh yes. Hard to say which he is best at, actually.’ The grin widened into a full smile.

‘I’d best keep these coordinates in the navicom, then.’

Sandy looked out of the porthole as they rose up, the shape of the ancient chateau just visible below them in the night. ‘Yes, you had.’


End file.
